


Tortured Souls

by arazialotis



Category: Supernatural, Supernatural RPF
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-23
Updated: 2020-04-23
Packaged: 2021-03-01 16:40:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23810200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arazialotis/pseuds/arazialotis
Summary: Years after Dean escaped Hell, the past comes back to haunt him.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Original Female Character(s), Dean Winchester/Reader, Dean Winchester/You
Comments: 3
Kudos: 13





	Tortured Souls

“I lost count of how many souls.” He said with tears in his eyes. “The things I did to them…” 

*** 5 Years Later ***

Sam and Dean had finished a run-of-the-mill hunt. As they ate at an unremarkable bar with mediocre food and lukewarm beer, they sat in silence. They had nothing noteworthy to say and having known each other for so long, any small talk at this point was redundant. The waves of gray skies rolled into dark clouds. Thunder rattled the wooden floors. 

Sam cleared his throat and nodded his head in the direction behind Dean. A woman had been intently staring at them for the past 15 minutes or so. Dean took the cue. After finishing a bite and wiping his mouth, he made his way up to the bar for more drinks. While waiting for the beers to be served, he casually let his eyes roam the area where she was sitting.

She was the only thing unordinary in this dull place. Her lips were painted the color of mulled wine and a long gold chain plunged below her deep neckline. The few drops of rain caught in her hair made the false appearance of a glimmering halo. But it was her eyes that haunted Dean the most. The same look he saw every time he glanced in the mirror. Something deeper swimming behind flesh. 

She never broke eye contact with him. If the warning tugging at him was familiarity, he couldn’t place it. Almost as if nature magnetically repelled him, he headed back to his table instead of making a pass at her. He handed Sam his drink and shrugged his shoulders. 

By the time they had satisfied themselves, the storm was winding down; the rolls of thunder already faded out. Dean fished out a few twenties and laid them on the table before taking a final scan of the room. The girl was nowhere in sight. With nothing else on the agenda, it was time to move on. 

Dean met Sam in the car. He started her up, but before pulling out onto the open road. He scanned the channels filled with static until something caught his mood. Dean didn’t know if they were headed home or to another case, so he simply started driving down the main road until Sam would undoubtedly come in hot with an opinion. The wipers streaked across the windshield, making a noise comparable to nails on a chalkboard. It was time for new ones. 

Sam was browsing the web on his phone but was distracted when Dean nudged him to look towards his right. The girl from the bar was stranded on the shoulder of the road, helplessly looking into the hood of a smoking car. Sam sighed his discontent but Dean ignored it, pulling over to offer their assistance. 

The car door on Dean’s side creaked open and then slammed shut. His words were muffled from the inside of the car as Sam patiently loaded his gun, keeping an eye on his brother. He went to join them. As his door clicked shut, a surreal force threw him against the hood of the car. His head collided against metal. His hand grabbed the side of the door, but his weight dragged him down. Something sharp and warm grew at the top of his scalp. While he fought to keep his eyes open, the light began to dim before he dipped into unconsciousness. 

Dean was quick to the draw, you his target. But before he could shout demands or orders, his gun flew from his hand and his feet were swept out from under him. The breath left his lungs. Immediately, you were there, pinning him as a lioness would her prey. 

As Dean struggled you purred. “Don’t tell me you don’t remember your first?” Your eyes flashed a thick, inky black. Dean’s brow furrowed. “I’m here to repay the favor.” Your eyes cleared, and seeing them up close the truth was unavoidable. 

***

Hell. The place that was indescribable. To call it grimy, muggy, dark, or grim was useless. Any adjective was futile. Any hope was futile. But that was where Dean had once found himself. For thirty years. Tortured, impaled, left to a bloody heaping mess of nothing. And he resisted any escape from the pain. Until now. 

In his cell resembling a coal mine, too dark to see the blood and rot on the floor. His arms were stretched so far apart it felt like one more twist of the metal rack would rip his body in two. His chest heaved, hearing wails from nearby cells. Any clink, clang, or shuffle outside his cell caused his heart to race, tears to form in his eyes, and beads of blood-filled sweat to trickle out of his shirtless back. 

The door creaked open and in walked the man he knew so well. Although he was no man. He was the monster of monsters. Alastair. 

“Well, well, well Dean.” Alastair mocked as he snapped on latex gloves. “Looks like we’ve got quite the agenda for you today.”

Dean’s lip trembled. 

“Shall we being with the molars or the plantar tendon?” He asked. “I always love giving choices.” He gleamed. 

A single tear slid down Dean’s cheek as he uttered the next words. “I’ll do it.” He shook. 

Alastair dropped a shiny metallic device, attempting to not look surprised. 

“Whatever you want.” Dean continued. “Please.”

Alastair chuckled. “My, isn’t this a happy day. A student becomes a teacher.”

Dean hung his head low. 

“I should warn you though, once you get off the rack, there is no getting back on. Or should I say, you’ll never choose to do so.” 

Dean felt the chains lax. 

Alastair’s finger tapped on his chin. “Now who should I pair you with…” He paused to think. “It’s not like we’re short on new arrivals. But I find for beginners, compatibility is important.” 

With the chains no longer holding his weight, Dean fell to the floor. 

“Rest for now Dean,” Alastair instructed. “I’ll be back soon with your first assignment.” 

Dean curled up into a ball, his knees to his chest. He shook. For once not from fear or pain. But relief. For a few precious moments of peace. But as Alastair promised, it did not last for long. 

By the time he had returned, Dean had pulled his way up from the floor and onto a stone bench carved out from the matching dark wall. He had been allowed to wash, to have fresh clothes. He sat with his elbows to his knees, his hands folded in between. He couldn’t think. He had to turn it off. For what he was about to do… His hands went to his head, pulling at his hair to escape the thought. 

Keys clanked at Dean’s cell. His heart raced, and sweat began to pour as if it was all a joke. But Alastair entered, smiling as a proud father would. Two men with a bull ring where eyes should be entered with a starved little thing in between. She was blindfolded and dressed in little else but a sack. She dragged her feet in protest. She must be new, Dean thought, to still have some fight left in her. The men threw her to the ground where she scrambled into a corner and started to shiver. 

“Tie her up Dean,” Alastair instructed. 

Bile rose up in Dean’s throat. He saw himself walking over but his body refused to budge. 

“Oh, and Dean?” Alastair commented. “If I sense any hesitation or pity, I’ll ensure to walk you through the procedure step by step.” He paused. “With twice the force.” 

Dean had no choice. He told himself he was doing this girl a favor. If Alastair had his way with her, it’d be much worse. He closed his eyes, turning it off once more. He walked over to the corner and grabbed your wrist, dragging you to the rack, drowning out your pleas for help. One by one, he secured each limb into the chain bearings before straightening up. He curled his fist. 

Alastair spoke up, relaxed against the wall, watching what was to become his protégé. “I want you to see her eyes.” 

Dean gulped but did not disobey. He reached the top of the blindfold and pulled down to gaze upon the most beautiful and innocent eyes he had ever seen. Still filled with life. Sparkling like a pool of fresh-water drowning out the fire around him. And for a moment Dean had forgotten he was in hell. 

“Please.” You begged. “There’s been a mistake. I don’t belong here. Help me.” 

Dean closed his eyes and pinched his lips. Alastair’s patience was wavering and almost intervened until he noticed Dean’s fist tighten. 

“I’m sorry.” He whispered so lowly you could barely read the words from his lips. Dean met your eyes again and loud enough for Alastair to hear, he resentfully grunted. “That’s what we all say.” Before striking a devastating blow to your ribs. 

***

Months, years had passed. There was no way to tell. And the man you had known as Dean had grown harder, crueler, and more heartless. With each visit, the black void in his eyes grew. In the beginning, pain had been fast and swift. Resetting each day. But recently he favored the pain to be longer, more drawn out. He’d infect wounds, the intensity growing each passing day. Or the times he pretended to let you escape. You finally stopped trying after the seventh attempt. But by far the worst was when he got sick of your screams and let the starved rats finish the job. You hated the rats.

Holding onto whatever humanity you had left in you was just as painful. Your memory faltered. What you once remembered was almost all but lost. You mumbled to yourself while he was away or if you were permitted to rest, what you could see in your mind.

He came in with a single razor blade one session, interrupting your babbling. You quickly shut your mouth as he grabbed your chin, eyeing you with disgust. 

“You know I hate it when your hair gets too long.” He spat at you before forcing your head down. 

Your eyes teared as strings of hair landed by your bare feet. Each stroke was finished with the slice of the razor until blood began to cover the pieces of fallen hair. His hand left your body, and you heard the clink of the razor being set down.

You thought he had left, that was your mistake. You continued your pattern. Your mother’s name, your father’s name, your brother’s. 

A fist came harshly against your jaw. You hung low from the blow, only being supported by the chains. You spit out a tooth and let the blood drain down your chin. He grabbed your entire face in the palm of his hand, forcing you to meet his eyes. Out of all your time in hell, you’d never seen such fire. 

“Who told you to say that!?” He demanded. 

Your brows furrowed, confused by what could he have meant. 

His patience was thin. He grabbed hold of your ear, forcing your head to follow. If he had the strength, he might as well rip it off with his bare hands. 

“Are you hard of hearing me, bitch? Answer me!” He let go. 

“Nobody!” You screamed back. 

He wasn’t satisfied. “Where the fuck did you get those names?” 

You began to cry, fearing how he might use them against you. It was the only thing you had left. Another blow came to your cheek. You caved too easily but it was only a matter of time. Time that he had endless amounts of.

Your lips trembled as you spoke their names. “My mother… Mary. My father… John.” You wailed. “And my little brother Sam.” You choked. He was speechless. “Do you have family Dean? Do you remember your family? My Sammy. My little Sam. When I last saw him, I tried to cut his hair… he always wore it too long… Just like you think of me.” 

He shook his head. “Liar!” 

“I swear! What else do I have to lose?” You pitifully reasoned. 

He went to the wall of tools. “You have no idea…” He muttered, picking up a golden fish hook and securing black wire to the loop at the end. 

"Dean please!" You pleaded. "I see it in your eyes, you're not one of them yet. You have to fight back! What would you tell your family if they saw you now? Who was your family Dean? Remember!" 

His jaw was strained, clenching his teeth so hard you could almost hear them crack. He refused to answer you. He grabbed your bottom lip, pulling it outward and it became apparent what he was about to do. 

You pulled against your restraints. "Dean. Please. No. I'm sorry! Please! I won’t speak again." 

"This'll teach you about lies." He muttered piercing your bottom lip, numb to your cries, and pulled the string through, repeating the stitching fashion. 

***Present day***

You had waited so long for your revenge. Put up with more than he could begin to imagine. Climbing the ranks. Clawing your way out. And finally, his throat was in your hands. 

“Sam.” He gasped, calling for his brother, unbeknownst to you. 

“How dare you say that name to me!” You spat as if he was trying to find your humanity that had long since burned away. 

“Y/N.” He said, clawing at your grip. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” 

“I didn’t deserve this!” You shrieked back. Your free hand went to the sky, nails sharpened like razor claws ready to attack. 

“None of us did.” He whispered. 

You shook your head, faltering. He looked nothing now like the monster you had known.

Cold metal slapped down hard against your wrist. You twisted to meet your attacker. 

“Sam, no!” Dean yelled. 

He stopped with the angel blade, raised ready to strike. Sam looked to Dean in confusion. Dean scrambled up from underneath you. Sam instead pinned you against the car. You attempted to disapparate but were stuck inside the flesh. You tried, again and again with no use, screaming in frustration. Sam locked your other hand in place and from the corner of your eye, you saw Dean appearing with a black bag. 

You squirmed underneath Sam’s frame but whatever magic they had used on you rendered you completely powerless. 

Your world went black as fabric covered your eyes, but Dean’s voice rang in your ears. “I’m so sorry, I truly am.” 

You’d not go so easily, but without your abilities, they overpowered you. You wrestled as both men grabbed you and placed you in the truck of the car. It smelled of black licorice and gunpowder. As if your world hadn’t been dark enough, the closing of the trunk threw you into total blackness. You screamed and twisted, kicking at the hood of the trunk. You could barely hear the creaks of the doors or the roar of the engine over your own howls. 

Inside the cabin, Sam and Dean looked at each other, and then back to the trunk as the wails of profanity failed to cease. 

“You bring earplugs?” Dean joshed at Sam, hoping to avoid any further interrogation. 

“Mind filling me in?” Sam pressed. 

Dean started down the open road, his destination now clearly laid before him. The bunker. He bit the side of his cheek before answering. “Call it... repenting of past sins.”


End file.
